


On the Ice

by kitausu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Anal Fingering, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hook-Up, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Olympics, One Night Stands, Pet Names, Rimming, Winter Olympics, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-13 12:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11759865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitausu/pseuds/kitausu
Summary: Lance is on the top of his game, he is a shoe in for the US Olympic Figure Skating team and America's sweetheart. He does NOT need some muscle bound football player turned NBC Commentator following him around.Where are Tara and Johnny when you need them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I love figure skating but I only have a very loose understanding of the technical elements so please forgive any and all mistakes. This is just for fun.

Lance loved the ice. He loved how unforgiving it was. How consistently it kicked his ass and made him stronger and beautiful all at the same time. 

He loved being on the ice more than anything else in this world.

The media liked to paint him as the US Team flirt and yeah, he was a flirt. He loved to smile and blow kisses to his fans and fellow skaters. The tabloid photos of him leaving various clubs with hook-ups weren’t exactly faked. But, at the end of the day, he loved the ice more than he could love anything, anyone, else.

Which was why, in a wonderfully timed (read: horribly timed) reveal, Coran picked the moment Lance came off the ice from practice, giddy and flushed with exertion to tell him the news in the hopes that a happy Lance was an agreeable Lance. 

"No."

Coran sighed and followed Lance out of the rink and down the hall to the locker rooms to change. 

"This is a really big opportunity for you!"

Lance threw the door open dramatically, startling the junior boys getting ready for practice a few feet away but satisfying his desire to be as melodramatic as possible right now. Coran was ruining his afterglow.  

"No! A muscle-bound meat head getting in my way during the Olympic season is  _not_ a really good opportunity for me!"

Lance plopped down on the bench and yanked his skates off a little harder than necessary, nearly throwing them across the room in his irritated haste. 

"I thought you liked muscle men?"

Coran's tone was so earnestly thoughtful and serious Lance could barely bring himself to glare properly. He watched the younger skaters walk quietly out of the room, instead.

"That's not even remotely the same thing.”

Thankfully, Coran didn't say another word, letting Lance change and leave to the relative silence of the junior men’s practice happening just down the hall. However, Coran started again once they were safely inside the blue Camaro Lance called his baby.

“About Shiro…”

Lance snarled in frustration, jerking the seatbelt too roughly so the safety lock engaged and he was forced to let it go and try again.

“Can’t Tara Lipinski or Johnny Weir do it? You know, actual skaters who have actually been to the Olympics? Why do I need some football player who has probably never set foot on a rink following my Olympic journey?" 

Coran looked thoughtful, but his eyes were twinkling in that mischievous way that Lance knew to run away from as fast as humanly possible.

“He was at the Super Bowl, twice.”

Lance squinted as he maneuvered out of the parking lot and up onto the nearby highway, trying not to act like he cared. He really didn’t care about football, or football players beyond straight up physical appreciation, but he did care about winning and being good at what you did.

“He doesn’t skate though.”

It wasn’t a question so Coran simply hummed.

“I hear he is a big fan of yours.”

Coran sang the words, knowing the exact reaction they would have on Lance. Lance loved his fans, almost as much as he loved skating. It was well documented that Lance would do just about anything to make a fan happy.

Coran was grinning before Lance even had a chance to say another word.

“I’m not answering any of his dumb meat head questions about how skating works. Google exists!”

Coran let him drive back to the hotel without another word on the subject and Lance pointedly ignored Coran calling NBC Sports and letting them know that Lance would expect to see them at practice soon.

 

Coran hadn't exactly been wrong when he said Lance liked muscle bound guys.

He did.

A lot.

Just in his bed and not at his rink. 

He liked men who could keep up with him, who could hold him up against a wall, manhandle him just how they wanted, press him into the mattress and not let him go until he was a sobbing used up mess.

Yeah, Lance liked big, athletic guys a lot and there were enough photos of him on the internet to prove that.

It was also, of course, what led to him at the club the next night, looking to burn off steam on a rest day with a particularly gorgeous meat head he had spotted across the bar. 

Said meat head had a strapping set of muscles that would have put Gaston to shame, an adorable tuft of white hair that flopped in his eyes, and an earnest smile that almost made Lance feel bad for calling him a meat head when they locked eyes.

Lance tilted his head slightly, gesturing to the empty stool at his side and the guys smile widened into a downright filthy grin as he made his way around the bar and towered over Lance instead.

“Hey.”

The guy immediately crowded close, the sweaty masculine scent of him already serving to make Lance weak as his arm pressed up against impossibly hard pecks.

“Hey yourself.”

Not his smoothest line, but the guy chuckled, and pressed even closer, leaning down to speak into Lance’s ear since he was still sitting, fingers loosely circling the club soda in his hands.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Mystery guy’s voice was deep and hypnotic, the vibrations pleasant from where he was steadily pressing more of his body up against Lance.

“Depends, are you going to want something in return?”

Lance finally turned his eyes up to lock with the other man’s. He knew what he looked like, baby blue eyes peeking up from between long lashes, the picture of innocence looking to be debauched. It was a look that never failed, and this proved to still be the case if the heat in the other man’s eyes was anything to go by.

“Your name?”

Lance laughed, startled by the endearingly innocent response, his chest filling with warmth. He really liked this guy, more than he usually did for just a one-night stand.

“It’s Lance. What about you, big beautiful muscle man?”

Muscle man’s cheeks flushed a charming pink, his grin turning warmer the longer they spoke.

“Takashi. I admit, I was also hoping to get a kiss in return, too.”

That, that was definitely more along what Lance had been expecting, if not still so endearingly innocent Lance could feel himself going pink around the edges. He hadn’t felt this flustered since he was a kid.

“Well, Takashi, I bet that could be arranged.”

 

Lance didn’t drink while training, but he did let Takashi buy him a couple club sodas before they left.

He hadn’t really intended to stay much longer after their initial introduction, his brain and his dick pretty focused on getting into bed and getting off. But, then Takashi had smiled and asked him so sweetly what he did and while Lance evaded the question, they ended up talking for hours until Takashi said, in that same sweet earnest voice right into Lance’s ear, that he really wanted to fuck him until he screamed.

Could a man alive say no to something like that? Lance didn’t think so.

They managed to keep their hands off of each other in the Uber, but only barely. Takashi’s hand was clenched so tightly around Lance’s upper thigh, he knew he would have bruises in the morning. He was looking forward to standing in his bathroom and pressing them until the edges turned white, remembering tonight.

They did _not_ manage to make it to a bed right away, Takashi crowding Lance up against the door as soon as he closed behind them.

Although they were roughly the same height, Takashi was just so big, his shoulders huge and broad dwarfing Lance’s lithe frame as he ground his cock against the curve of Lance’s ass.

“You’re seriously so pretty, I can’t believe—“

Takashi cut himself with a grunt, his hips hitching forward helplessly, the hot too much friction of his jeans against his dick so good he could barely stop. But then Lance slipped from his grip, his eyes blown wide with lust and desire as he took Takashi by the hand and led him to his hotel bed still shrouded in shadow because neither of them had bothered to turn on the light.  

“I hope you aren’t a murderer, since you know where I’m staying now.”

Lance stuck his tongue out cheekily but gasped when Takashi pounced and captured it between his lips.

Letting himself be manhandled, Lance catalogued all the places he would see Takashi on his skin tomorrow: the bruising grip on his upper arm, the press of his thumbs in the dip of his hipbones, the bite at his navel as Takashi unzipped Lance’s pants and yanked them away with a savage tug.

Lance thought he heard a sarcastically mumbled _murder that ass_ but then Takashi flipped him onto his stomach and Lance forgot everything but the slick almost too much too fast movement of the other man’s tongue on his hole and teeth at his rim.

It was all so good, the way Takashi worked him open slowly, sucking at him and pressing his tongue as deep as it could go. Lance felt sloppy with it, slutty and needy and everything he loved to feel during sex.

When Takashi finally, _finally,_ slipped a finger inside, it went in easily and Lance sobbed at Takashi’s praise.

“You’re taking it so well, so good for me, huh baby? Gonna take me like a good boy?”

Lance could only nod, frantic with need and unable to speak around the tears clogging his throat and streaming down his cheeks as this complete stranger took him apart from the inside out.  

When Takashi deemed him ready and pushed inside, Lance saw stars.

The irresistible movement of Takashi in him, consuming him, holding him down and keeping him still like a toy for his pleasure, it was something Lance craved and could seriously get used to.

They fucked more than once that night, each goading the other back to hardness and pleasure induced insanity until Lance’s hole was puffy and abused and Takashi just laughed at Lance’s kitten weak attempts to get him back on top of him.

“That’s enough, yeah? Sleep, pretty boy.”

Lance thought vaguely about protesting, he was the stamina king, but Takashi had beat him. No guy had ever worn Lance out like this before.

He knew, in an abstract way, that he would be feeling all of this tomorrow on the rink, but he was so loose limbed and orgasm drunk that it all seemed far away for future Lance to deal with.

He slept like the dead and only barely remembered Takashi telling him he had to go to work and kissing him gently on the forehead. He did, eventually, wake up to the sound of Coran pounding cheerfully at his door and calling his name.

Lance winced as he sat up on the edge of the bed, feeling the dull ache in his back and his hips that would likely spell trouble at the rink today but were all the signs of a truly good fuck.

He didn’t bother to get dressed beyond a pair of boxers for decency’s sake. Coran had seen him in much worse state. His eyes were barely open when he flung open the door, explaining why it took him a minute to understand why Takashi, Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane, former football star and current NBC golden boy was standing behind Coran and looking for the world like he was about to pass out any second from embarrassment.

Lance could relate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this could be a long lengthy AU, but I know myself and I know I won't finish it if it is, I hope you like the soft silliness you will be getting instead!

Lance was keenly aware of Takashi, well, Shiro, standing on the side of the rink, talking to Coran like he hadn’t spent the entire night making Lance scream.

It helped only a little to think about how steadily redder Shiro’s face had gotten when he first walked into Lance’s hotel room for the second time and Coran introduced them like Shiro didn’t have a mark in the shape of Lance’s mouth on the underside of his jaw (and other places less visible, too).

 

 

Coran, of course, was oblivious to the tension in the room, reminding Lance cheerfully that he had practice in half an hour and that breakfast was ready in his room if Shiro and Lance wanted to join him.

Lance didn’t normally do breakfast with his one-night stands, but, he had really liked Takashi, and it wasn’t like he had a choice with Shiro.

So, they drank their coffee (black for Lance, half cream and practically 20 spoonful’s of sugar for Shiro, tea for Coran) and ate their toast while Coran filled the silence with talk of the Olympics and the GPF.

“You know, Lance’s Quad Loop is very stable, and he’s very close to landing 5 quads in his long program to catch up with Nathan Chen. We have very high hopes for the Olympic podium this year.”

Coran was smiling, spraying crumbs at Shiro as he gushed about his skater. Lance really couldn’t have asked for a more enthusiastic or dedicated coach than Coran. (He also couldn’t have asked for a more sadistic ballet instructor than Allura, but she got results and actually did care about him so he would never complain…much).

“You’re unusually quiet this morning, Lance!”

Both Shiro and Coran were looking at Lance expectantly when he finally tore his gaze away from the half-finished apple on his plate. He accidentally made eye contact with Shiro and they both flushed crimson and looked away.

Because of that, Lance nearly jumped out of his seat when Shiro’s ankle reached out and unexpectedly pressed against his. He looked around, wide eyed, trying to catch Shiro’s gaze but the other man refused to look, focusing entirely on Coran as he asked questions about the different quads.

Lance swore he saw a smirk.

That same smirk, in fact, that Lance had seen last night, hovering over him as Shiro took him apart, fucked in and out of him and owned him so deeply, not knowing who he was, not realizing—

“Wait a second!”

Lance slammed both hands on the table, startling Shiro and Coran enough that Shiro pulled his foot away in shock.

“You said that he was a _big fan_ of mine. He didn’t even recognize me!”

Lance jabbed an accusing finger at each of them in turn, but Coran only shrugged and looked to Shiro like the burly reporter in their midst had all the answers. If it were entirely possible, Shiro looked even more embarrassed now then he had all morning. His eyes kept shifting side to side like he was looking for an escape that definitely would not be coming his way.

“Well…you see…a friend of mine—a fellow reporter—showed me a video compilation of your quads from last season and…well…I said they were amazing—and they were! But, the next thing I know he’s told the boss I’m a big fan and they offered me the job and…well...”

The answer kind of made since…except for all the ways it didn’t. Lance’s jaw was wide open as he gaped at Shiro in shock and disbelief.

“And you didn’t look me up?”

Lance waved his hand wildly, like the internet was all around them and didn’t Shiro _see_ that?

“I did! I looked up your routines and your stats…I just…you looked _different last night.”_

Shiro looked around, desperate for some help from Coran, only to remember a second too late they had been pretending last night hadn’t happened and Coran had no idea what was going on.

Wincing, Shiro must have decided the only thing to do was to keep talking.

“It was dark, and you were gorgeous and really my type and who actually expects an Olympic skater to be at the same bar as them?”

Shiro was still seated, looking up pleadingly at Lance in an ironic reversal of their positions in the bar the previous night. And, Lance admitted, it did make sense, in that way that only things that happened to Lance _could_ make sense.

He sat down again, ignoring Coran’s attempts at asking _what on earth?_

“Probably the same people who don’t expect to Super Bowl players at the same bar, either.”

Shiro smiled and shrugged, accepting it for the conscious it was.

They finished the meal in silence, Coran finally giving up and drinking his tea while giving alternating looks of bewilderment to each of them. When Shiro gently pressed his ankle back up against Lance’s, he let it stay. And when they all stood to go change for the day, Lance let himself brush up against Shiro’s side like he had secretly been wanting to do all morning.

 

And now they were here at the rink, Shiro as cool as a cucumber and Lance on his third fall of the practice and not feeling any more focused then before.

He found himself on his ass once again when inspiration struck. It took only a second to orient himself to Shiro, still standing like nothing had happened with Coran, although now he had a camera out and was recording whatever Lance’s coach was talking about with so much excitement.

It was almost too easy for Lance to sneak up on them, Shiro entirely focused on his work he didn’t see Lance at his side until it was too late.

“Shiro!”

Lance reached out, grabbing Shiro by the chin, careful of the camera, and forced him to turn so Lance could kiss him. He ran his tongue along Shiro’s bottom lip in an imitation of last night and the path Shiro’s cock had taken along Lance’s own lips while settled at Shiro’s feet.

When he pulled back, Shiro instinctively moved to follow but was blocked by the low wall between them. By the look in his eyes, Lance could tell Shiro was calculating how quickly he could get to him, and if jumping onto the ice was even a possibility, but then Lance was skating away, leaving him in the dust, and more flustered than ever.

Something about Shiro being the one flushed and wanting finally let Lance calm down enough to run through his short program cleanly for the first time that day.

 

 

Lance continued to feel smug throughout the week as Shiro tried, and failed, to get him back. Each attempted kiss or grope found itself blocked, either by Coran, Shiro’s actual job of filming Lance, or, shockingly, some of Shiro’s fans, who somehow found them flirting in a Starbucks once when Lance had just seriously been considering letting Shiro put him on his knees in the bathroom stall.

It was all so much fun, way more fun than Lance had had off ice in years, if not ever. There was a playful quality to Shiro’s attempts at getting him undressed, that always stopped before it got too much.

“So, how is having a meat head football player following your journey?”

Coran teased him light heartedly as Shiro stood across the room, getting his equipment ready as Lance stretched and readied for an off-ice workout with Allura.

Lance smiled as he bent over under the guise of getting a deeper stretch, but laughed at the sound of Shiro’s muffled curse as equipment fell from his hands.

“Not bad, actually.”

They hadn’t actually done anything since that first night, but Lance felt like every day they were drawing closer to something.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in love with how this chapter ended but overall, I think this was okay! Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> NOTE: The Body Shoot is based on the actual ESPN Body Issue photo shoot that Ashley Wagner did this year. Check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Je6PNi4wOgw
> 
> This photoshoot is actually what made me want to write this in the first place, even if it is only a minor part of the story in the end haha

Shiro had finally cornered him, exacting his revenge in the worst, most delicious way possible. 

He hadn't even seen it coming, too engrossed in the music pulsing through his headphones as he passed by the little chair in the locker room where Shiro was waiting. Shiro had, of course, seen it for the perfect opening it was and yanked Lance down into his lap before he could even blink. 

"Hello."

Shiro smiled up at him a little mischievously, his arms snaking around Lance's hips to pull him tight against his chest and settle him more firmly in his hold.

"Hello to you, too."

Lance knocked his headphones back with a toss of his head so they hung loosely around his neck, his lips curling up into a smile Shiro would almost call shy if he didn’t know better. 

It had been weeks since their "one-night stand" and Shiro would like to think he knew Lance pretty well by this point, In his defense, it was his job to follow him around and take note of everything he did, especially the way he always licked the spoon clean when he ate his morning yoghurt or how he ruffled his hair when listening to Coran’s comments during training.

It was his job to take notice of the weeks of Lance teasing him with chaste kisses and glimpses of his ass snug in tights at ballet. It was definitely his job to spend weeks sneaking up behind Lance and whispering in his ear how he had missed him last night, how he thought of their night together every night with his hand down his pants, sending Lance's blood pressure skyrocketing. 

And because it was his job, and Shiro was _very_ good at his job, he thought he had known where this was going. Shiro had expected this to be another way to tease Lance, to make him squirm and send him on his way again. But, after all the buildup, he found that he couldn't just let him go so easily. 

"Can I kiss you?"

Lance rolled his eyes like it was a foregone conclusion, tilting his head obediently so Shiro could reach his slightly parted lips. 

They were a deep red color , coated in the lipstick Lance sometimes wore that left marks on coffee cups and Shiro's cheek. He could taste the slightly synthetic buttery flavor as he sank his teeth into Lance's pouting bottom lip. 

The mess he knew he was making of his face, of both their faces, was worth the startled whimper that fell from Lance's lips like the music still pumping from around Lance's neck. 

He hiked Lance impossibly closer with a bruising grip on his thighs, suddenly desperate to feel skin against skin like they had been so many weeks ago. 

"You know, I had really planned not-ahh-not to like you."

Lance tilted his head back, seemingly lost in the feeling of Shiro's mouth and teeth on his neck. He made only a cursory sound of protest when Shiro knocked his headphones off and sent them tumbling to the floor. 

"Those were expensive."

Shiro hummed, not really listening as he set to his task with single minded gusto. 

After several long minutes that left Lance half sobbing in his lap, Shiro sat back a little and admired the set of marks following the slope of Lance's neck, so pretty as they slowly started to bruise under his gaze. 

"How is that going for you?"

Lance blinked, eyes unfocused as if he had already lost the thread of the conversation and was too busy trying to figure out where Shiro's mouth had gone. 

"Do you not like me?"

Shiro's smile was all teeth as he slipped his hand down the back of Lance's loose yoga pants and squeezed the way he remembered doing so long ago. 

Lance whined, back arching as he simultaneously tried to relieve the aching pressure in his cock and move closer to where Shiro's fingers were teasingly slipping between his cheeks to catch the rim of his hole. 

"Sorry, didn't catch that. You don't like me?"

Lance was panting, strung out and desperate as he left a growing wet patch on the front of his pants. 

"If you don't fuck me right now, I'm suing." 

The words were so unexpected, gasped against Shiro's neck where Lance had tipped forward, boneless like a rag doll, Shiro couldn't help but laugh. A deep body full laugh that shook them both and seemed to clear the air and his head a little. 

When he finally stopped, Lance was sitting up, glaring somewhat ineffectually as he was still grinding against the slight pressure of Shiro's fingers absently playing with his hole. 

"Sorry, kitten. Of course I'll fuck you."

Shiro pressed another kiss to the corner of Lance's lips where the smear of lipstick was lighter. He didn't want to know how wild he looked when Lance already looked like sex personified with the red paint across his lips and cheek and neck purple and wet from Shiro's mouth. 

If Lance wanted Shiro to fuck him on the ice in front of a crowd of millions, Shiro probably would have done it without hesitation. 

 

Lance found himself on his knees, Shiro's tongue once again buried deep in his ass as he gripped frantically at the edge of the chair, just trying to hold on. 

"That's right baby, let it out. Your doing so well."

Shiro bit lightly at the swell of Lance's ass, one finger working slowly in and out as Lance sobbed and begged for more. 

"You’re so tense, baby boy. Let me in."

Of course Lance was tense, it was the Olympic season, everyone was tense. Except, right then, all Lance could think about was Shiro. 

Shiro, who was working two then three fingers into him. Shiro, whose tongue was licking so hot around his rim and pushing in between his fingers as he groaned like Lance tasted better than anything in the world. Shiro, who was supposed to be a one-night stand but was steadily working his way into Lance's life like no one else ever had. 

And when Shiro came inside of him, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder, his mind was blissfully blank and entirely satisfied. 

 

"What?"

Shiro's voice was deadpan as he looked blankly between a smiling Coran and an incredibly smug looking Lance. 

"It's called the Body Shoot. It's very prestigious."

Lance bit his lip and smirked at Shiro like he wasn't describing a wet dream wrapped in a nightmare. His lips were painted that dark red once again, not so subtly reminding Shiro of the way he had tenderly wiped Lance’s face clean last night of the lipstick mixed with his own seed painted across his cheek.

"It's a very good opportunity for your story! You can cover what it's like for Lance to be interviewed under extreme conditions!"

Coran clapped his hands together and beamed like he was handing Shiro a huge gift. 

_Extreme conditions._

Yeah, Lance entirely naked except for a little sock over his half hard cock and a pair of skates would definitely be considered extreme conditions...for Shiro anyway. 

That, and the little smirk Lance sent his way over his shoulder when he skated out into the center of the rink later that day, it was going to end him on the spot. But, as Shiro watched, Lance steadily became more focused on his work. He saw the spark come to life in his eyes that only happened when Lance took to the ice. Sure, it was erotic, seeing this man naked and covered in marks in the shape of Shiro's own mouth and highlighted by spotlights. But he was so effortlessly beautiful and talented and Shiro was struck by how so far in over his head he was. 

Standing there, watching the man he had had in his bed just hours before, existing in his element, in the field he had mastered to near perfection, it all felt so surreal. Shiro could never have predicted that the gorgeous man he had picked up at the bar would lead him here, but he was so incredibly happy it had he could barely breathe. 


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro watches for him from his place at the edge of the rink. He has a press pass hanging around his neck, allowing him to hover around the Kiss & Cry without being questioned, although his bulky stature does get him a few confused looks until they see the NBC logo emblazoned on his shirt and understand.

Their confusion is understandable, though. Usually, reporters don’t twist their hands and sweat through their shirt and look frantically around the rink, trying to catch a glimpse of their boyfriend about to get on the ice. _Usually,_ NBC Sports Reporters aren’t dating the favorite for the Olympic gold, either.

Shiro had wanted to be with Lance, had even argued that _as a reporter_ he would be there to record Lance’s last few moments before taking to Olympic ice. But Lance had laughed and kissed the corner of his mouth and reminded him that, even if he wasn’t Lance’s boyfriend, there was absolutely no way he or Coran would let a reporter follow him around today. It was too important, Lance needed to focus, and Shiro was the exact opposite of what he needed right then.

“When you’re around, I can’t think past that and what we did last night.”

Lance had blushed when he had said it, but he had also smiled and taken Shiro’s hands and brought them up to his lips to kiss the knuckle in the middle of his prosthetic finger. 

And honestly, Shiro could relate. With Lance standing right in front of him, he also couldn’t think about anything but the bruise in the shape of Shiro’s own mouth peeking out from the edge of his tank top or the way Shiro wanted to press his fingers forward, take Lance’s bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, press his index finger down on his tongue and watch him drool and— yeah, it was probably best he wasn’t with Lance right now.

But then the crowd was roaring and the announcer’s voice boomed the name Shiro had been waiting to hear with a mix of anticipation and dread.

_Lance McClain is now taking the ice for his Free Skate._

The commentators’ tiny voices from the broadcast were just loud enough from a nearby TV that Shiro could hear them as well.

_Lance McClain is the favorite for Olympic gold from the United States of America. He is currently in second place after the short. Based on his past performances this season, I really think we are about to see something special here. McClain says he was inspired by his Cuban heritage and hopes to make his family proud with his tribute. This is his first Olympics._

Shiro watched as Lance finally appeared on the ice, arms raised in greeting to the uproar of support from his fans. He was smiling, not a hint of nerves on his face or in his posture as he took his place at the center of the rink. 

The music started and Shiro's pulse quickened to keep time with the familiar rhythm. He had watched Lance perform this routine so many times, he knew where Lance excelled and where he typically faltered.

Without thinking about it, he caught himself holding his breath at the jumping passes, hands bawled up into fists so that his finger nails cut half-moon arcs in the flesh of his human palm. After each successful pass he felt himself breathe a little easier, the knot of tension loosening at the base of his neck, until Lance was once again at the center of the rink, his chest heaving, his pose solid as the crowd went wild around him and he was done.

_A perfect free program. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from Lance McClain. He’s off to the Kiss & Cry now. Let’s watch some of his jumping passes again. Beautiful edges—_

Shiro lost track after that, the sound of the commentators turning to white noise as Lance’s eyes found his and held. They watched each other, Shiro drawn to him like a magnet as he hovered near the Kiss & Cry while Lance put the guards on his skates. He expected Lance to break eye contact in front of the camera, but instead, Lance just smiled and held his gaze, even as he sat between Coran and Allura to hear his scores.

_And he’s done it! Lance McClain has secured the gold medal for the United State of America!_

Coran and Allura grabbed Lance, finally breaking their eye contact and jostling him between them in celebration. He jumped up, pumping his fist in the air before like an 80s film. But then he was running to where Shiro stood only a few feet away. It was like in slow motion as Lance lept into his arms, Shiro catching him effortlessly and hugging him close as Lance wrapped his legs securely around his hips.

In that moment, Shiro didn’t care that there were cameras everywhere, or that he would probably be getting a very interesting phone call from his boss before the day was out. Lance was warm and sweaty in his arms and he was just so so proud he felt like he could burst.

“You did it!”

Lance pulled back, just enough to look Shiro in the eye.

“I did it!”

And when Lance surged forward for a kiss, Shiro met him eagerly with an open heart.

 

Lance groaned when Shiro opened the door and let the light from the hallway filter in across his face in the darkness of their hotel room.

“Close the door.”

He whined pitifully, pulling the sheet up over his head and trying to block out the light that was already gone.

Shiro wanted to needle him a little, the man who normally got up every morning at 5am to train was complaining about 8am being _too early._ But, Lance had just won an Olympic gold medal, so Shiro figured he could let him off the hook.

“I brought breakfast. And coffee.”

Lance’s arms shot up out from under the sheets, making grabby motions in the direction of Shiro’s voice like coffee would just materialize in his hands. Instead, Shiro just laughed and gently yanked the cover from Lance’s face so he could see the coffee still held just a touch out of reach.

“Sit up or you’ll spill.”

That fat bottom lip stuck out in such a pathetic pout Shiro wanted to laugh again, but instead he helped Lance to sit up and handed him the paper cup from the little coffee shop in the lobby of the hotel and took a seat facing him on the bed.

“I also brought you the paper, thought you might find it interesting.”

Lance looked up curiously from where he had decided to bury his nose in the steam of the coffee in his hands. Shiro had spread the newspaper out across his knees so that the image of Shiro holding Lance up while they kissed was the first thing he saw.

_Olympic Gold Medalist Receives a Congratulatory Kiss_

“Holy shit.”

Lance’s blush was still visible even in the dim light filtering in through the curtains.

“Regrets?”

Shiro said the line casually, like he didn’t care either way but Lance saw right through it. He picked up Shiro’s flesh hand, his prosthetic supporting him where he was currently leaning over Lance’s legs on the bed, and kissed the middle knuckle in an imitation of the same move from just a few days earlier.

“Nope. I have a gold medal. Gold medalists don’t regret anything. It’s in the rules.”

Smiling once again, Shiro tilted his head in mock consideration.

“Is that so?”

Lance nodded solemnly, still busy kissing each of Shiro’s knuckles to his own satisfaction.

“Do you know what else is in the rules?”

Shiro just hummed, busy contemplating how to get Lance’s mouth somewhere else, somewhere a little closer to his own.

“It’s in the rules that NBC sports reporters/boyfriends have to kiss gold medalists and take them on celebratory dates and kiss them again.”

Shiro barked out a laugh before leaning forward and complying with the first demand of a kiss.

“Well, I don’t want to be a rule breaker.”

Shaking his head in mock severity, Lance could only keep the joke going for a second more before he cracked as Shiro placed butterfly kisses across his forehead, cheek, nose, and finally his lips again.


End file.
